


At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners

by geoviki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom/sub, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoviki/pseuds/geoviki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some habits are hard to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2004 Merry_Smutmas fic exchange for Blythely. 
> 
> Many thanks to my two wonderful beta editors, painless_j and isiscolo.

Number twelve Grimmauld Place was still officially, although nominally, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and none of its members would admit aloud to any other opinion. But in the trying weeks after Sirius Black had gone through the veil, meetings in the musty old house had grown fewer and fewer.

At first it was the occasional, "Oh, just meet me in Hogsmeade, no need to come all the way to London." Then it turned into dinner invitations to the Tonkses or the Burrow. Another complication was that, after his first emotional visit to Grimmauld Place after Sirius's death, Harry had flat-out refused to make a second. Under the circumstances, everyone agreed it was probably better not to force the issue. For all intents and purposes, the Order abandoned Grimmauld Place – even Molly gave up her attempt to restore it to any of its former glory.

Four years after Sirius's death, coming back to the familiar rooms and their unwanted memories left Remus Lupin feeling as though he'd been exiled to the far side of the planet and not merely the Black ancestral home.

He hadn't liked the echoing corridors and empty rooms that spoke of his friend's absence any more than Harry had. He'd managed to avoid all but the most urgent need to return, but he'd been unable to talk his way out of Dumbledore's recent request to stay here. Lupin was trying to crack a new Dark Arts curse the Death Eaters had sprung on them; even he had to admit the Black library offered plenty of reference material.

"We need someone to keep the place from falling into total disrepair, Remus," the Headmaster said, with that distinctive amity that made his words sound like a wish rather than an order. Lupin knew better. "It's merely for a short while."

Five months later, Lupin was berating himself for not asking exactly how long that was meant to be. His work on the curse hadn't been productive; Flitwick had managed to crack it first. He no longer had a reason to stay, and he'd never really bought Albus's pretty speeches about needing him here. But he'd never managed to satisfy his own needs with any great success, so he let himself pretend that he was satisfying Albus's. It finally occurred to him one frigid November day that he had deftly been put on the shelf. The worst part about it was that he no longer could summon the energy to care.

~.~.~.~

The wards alerted him to the presence of another Order member about three seconds before he heard the familiar bellow of Alastor Moody.

"Remus Lupin! Visitors, man!"

"Coming," he shouted back, and headed to the voice calling from the entry hall.

It had been weeks since he'd seen the old Auror, but many years longer since he'd even caught a glimpse of the person standing quietly beside him – Draco Malfoy.

Although if he hadn't recognized the white-blond hair and the pointed features, he wasn't certain he would have known him. His former student carried none of the cocky self-confidence that had once defined him and made him one of Lupin's least-liked students. This young man, shoulders hunched, hands winding together nervously, was burning a hole in the marble tile floor with his gaze.

"Take this out of here, laddie," Moody barked at him and jerked a thumb at the suitcase – presumably Malfoy's – resting beside them in the hallway. Lupin thought he heard a note of pity in his tone.

The Draco Malfoy that Lupin knew in third year would have objected loudly enough for the snoggers in the Astronomy Tower to hear, but this pale shadow didn't utter a word at Moody's epithet. He didn't register offense at the order to haul his own luggage, either, or demand that a house-elf materialize to take care of it. He merely looked blankly at Lupin, then at Moody, and finally asked, "Where?"

Lupin shook himself from his stupor, grasping that Malfoy was meant to stay here, and replied, "Oh, sorry. Upstairs – follow me." He didn't even take the first step before Moody stopped him with a quick jerk on his arm.

"No, let him find it himself."

He was used to Moody's brusque manners, and even though he was tempted to ignore the Auror and lead the obviously uncomfortable guest to his room, he suspected that Moody had plenty he needed to say in private. "Take a left at the top of the stairs. Room's about halfway down on the right, done up in green." Across from Lupin's room, in the spirit of misery loving company.

Malfoy surprised him by hoisting the suitcase without magic. "Thank you," he said, barely audibly, and the two men watched him climb the stairs until he was out of sight.

"Damaged goods," Moody said matter-of-factly, as if that answered the dozen questions Lupin was trying to prioritize.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Moody turned his good eye to Lupin balefully. "Well, I'll tell you as much as I know," he said, then gave a quick grin. "Any good whisky left?"

Obviously, it had been too long since Lupin had played host. "In the library. Should be some there."

Settled into the elaborately furnished room, sipping fine scotch and surrounded in a style that neither man should have expected to find himself in, barring the War, Moody got down to his story.

"Young Weasley pulled him out of a Death Eater camp near Gunbarrel Downs a fortnight ago. Recognized him from school, he said. No mistaking him, I suspect – he's the spitting image of his bastard father."

Lupin waited patiently as Moody took a slow swallow of the scotch, smiled blissfully, and resettled himself.

"Weasley thought for certain young Draco was a Death Eater and took him prisoner. But things weren't matching up from the get-go. For starters, there was no sign of Malfoy senior. And the Death Eaters had already made him a prisoner. Confused the hell out of Weasley, actually. Well, he figured the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so he decided not to kill him outright and brought him to the Burrow. Thought he'd let Mum and Dad sort it out."

Lupin could tell Moody was skirting the embarrassing issue of Grimmauld Place, but the point was clear – Ron had taken Malfoy to the place he thought most of the Order would be. "What did they find out?"

"Nothing good, to be blunt. You wouldn't treat a dog that way," he burst out, and shook his head fiercely. "I didn't hear all the details, and I'm glad for it. Young Malfoy took a lot of abuse from the Death Eaters. Albus says—"

"Dumbledore? Was he there?"

Moody looked irritated that he'd been interrupted. "Not at first, no. He came a few days later. Anyway—" he fixed Lupin with a stern look to prevent any further outburst, "—Albus says he needs a bit of time to recover from whatever it was they did to him. Young Weasley told me Malfoy's nothing like he was at school."

"Well, I expect he's grown up a bit in the past few years," Lupin said, but Moody shook his head.

"No, not like that. It's like I said, damaged goods. Boy barely speaks when spoken to. Broken, I'd say."

Terrific. "Why's he here, then? This is no hospital. Doesn't he belong in St. Mungo's or somewhere they could do something for him?"

Again, Moody shook his head, as though Lupin were disappointing him greatly with his questions. "Boy wants his revenge against the Death Eaters, Albus says, after what they did to him. But he's in no shape to do much of anything at the moment. There's no room to swing a cat at the Burrow, so here he is."

"They don't trust him," Lupin added.

"'Course not. Not yet. Boy needs vetting. That's where you come in."

Vetting was probably the kindest description Moody could come up with. Babysitting was closer to it.

"Why me?" he asked, more because it seemed as though Moody expected him to.

"Well, you were a teacher and all. Good with young-uns. And Albus says we need you for this."

Lupin looked at Moody and said nothing. He couldn't even be arsed to show his vexation to Moody – he knew it wasn't the old Auror's decision.

Moody, for his part, seemed to perk up at the quiet toleration – apparently he'd been rallying himself for a pitched battle. "It's only for a bit," he said with false cheer, and Lupin remembered being told the same thing when he was exiled here.

"I gather he's vetted enough that I can expect not to be murdered in my sleep."

Moody shook his head. "No problem there. He's not totally cracked up, if that's what's worrying you. Hell, they even let him spend time at the Burrow with Harry for a few days. No, no worries."

"So what exactly am I supposed to do with him?"

Moody spread out his hands in supplication. "Keep him here. Talk to him. Maybe get him to trust you. Probably wouldn't hurt to fatten him up a bit – he's nothing but skin and bones."

"How am I supposed to get him to trust me? He's a Slytherin – wouldn't Snape be a better choice?" He knew if Albus had wanted Snape to deal with Malfoy, Moody wouldn't be here trying to cajole him into taking on the job, but he was curious how well Moody had practiced his speech. Boredom was making him petty.

"Best way I know is to find out what he needs and then give it to him. Within reason."

Lupin suspected that Moody's view of _within reason_ was worlds apart from that of a Malfoy's. He let it pass. "And then?"

Moody adopted a little-practiced look of forbearance. "Then someone'll figure out where we can use him best and take him off your hands."

There was another silence. Once again, Lupin found himself accepting yet another unwanted burden, tucking his resentment away with the numerous other unpaid dues he felt the Order owed him. "So what else is going on? I don't get a lot of news here at headquarters."

Moody grinned – no doubt after adding that last disagreeable conversation to his own list of unpaid dues – before pouring himself a new glass of scotch and settling in to tell him.

~.~.~.~

Draco was a quiet house mate. He displayed impeccable manners, replied politely when addressed, but initiated no conversation of his own. At first fearing that Draco would become a distraction to his research, he relaxed when Draco kept himself busy, often joining him in the library where he'd quietly pull out a book and read for hours until it was time for one of their simple meals. After a few days, whatever reservations Lupin harbored over sharing the overlarge house with him faded.

"Why am I here?" Draco asked him one evening, over their none-too-elegant dinner of overcooked chicken and underdone potatoes.

Lupin hadn't even formulated a decent lie to his question, then wondered if it would have mattered if he had. Why not tell him the truth?

"You're being kept out of the way until they can discover how much danger you are to us."

Draco looked taken aback – he apparently hadn't been expecting honesty. "I'm not a danger—"

"Don't be naive. Of course you are. If only because of who you are, who your father is."

"Oh. So everyone here's going to hold that against me, too?" he said petulantly. "I might as well have stayed where I was."

"I can't see how that was working out for you all that well," Lupin snapped.

Draco's mouth dropped open in surprise. "I... Sorry."

He'd expected Draco to keep up the appearance of misunderstood victim, and the apology made him feel a brief flash of guilt.

"Think about it for a minute, Draco. You turned up using the classic double-agent method. Rescued from your own side, disaffected, ready for revenge. In a simple world, the Order would embrace you, and then give you all the help you need to wreak your righteous vengeance. But the world's not simple anymore."

A look of resignation and a nod let him know that Draco had taken his point. "So I'll be spending the war here?"

"I don't know. There's a good chance." Lupin relented and gave him a lopsided grin. "Food's not much to speak of, but it could be worse."

Draco surprised him with a laugh, and Lupin realized he'd never heard him laugh at all until that moment. He stared in surprise at the young man, noticing for the first time how the curved smile and crinkled eyes made him look somehow inviting. Draco had filled out in the weeks since his arrival - he was no longer gaunt, although he was still slender, and his haggard appearance had diminished. Lupin felt as if he were seeing him for the first time, and he liked what he saw. In the monk-like sanctuary of Grimmauld Place, it shook Lupin like a divine revelation.

"Mmm. So why are you here? To guard me?" Draco was saying, and Lupin wrenched his eyes away from his sudden vision so that he could answer.

"Not just that. Someone's got to maintain our headquarters, wouldn't you think?"

"Here? This is your _headquarters_? But no one ever comes here!"

"Great disguise, then, right?" He laid his knife and fork down on his empty plate. "And it's not exactly no-one – Kingsley paid us a visit only a few days ago."

"Yes, but... Well, I mean, it's odd. And it's certainly not very strategic, if you just told _me_."

"Yes, and now I suppose I'll have to kill you," he said lightly, before it occurred to him that he might be treading on dangerous ground. He hadn't pumped Draco for information on the Death Eaters, deciding that facts let slip to him would be more valuable.

But Draco merely laughed again – Lupin bathed in that smile and secretly rejoiced in how he had managed to sustain it. He found himself wanting more, and was surprised to notice he'd leaned forward over his plate. His hand inched towards Draco's arm – a brief touch and he made himself withdraw, content with the moment's contact.

Draco's laughter faded, but his smile remained. "Well, I suppose I can see why no one wants to come here. It's a bit...creepy. Not that...well, you know what I mean."

"Oh, yes. Still, we have everything we need here, don't you think?"

He hadn't expected that innocent question to rob Draco of his smile.

"Everything we need?" Draco echoed. "Does anyone ever have everything they need?"

Lupin abruptly remembered Moody's recommendation on how to gain Draco's trust – to find out what he needed and give it to him. At the time, he's brushed it aside as a platitude, but maybe the Auror was on to something.

"Do you need something, Draco? Just ask. If I can—"

He watched as the young man closed up within his cocoon of reserve once more.

"No. Nothing," he replied quietly, but Lupin suspected the problem wasn't that Draco didn't need anything, but that he didn't know how to ask for what he needed. And Lupin knew a lot about that.

~.~.~.~

Gradually, Lupin discovered an unexpected peace in sharing Grimmauld Place with his new charge. Draco possessed none of the youthful enthusiasm of his peers. Their dinner conversations uncovered a nonchalant cynicism that had taken Lupin years to cultivate: Draco's seemed to have been fed him in his mother's milk.

In fact, Lupin would have said his life at Grimmauld Place had changed for the better, until his watch went missing.

"It's like this place is deliberately provoking me," he complained to Severus Snape, who'd dropped in to check on Draco. The conversation had languished before Draco had excused himself and retired to his room for the evening. Even though the hostility Snape had shown Lupin in the past had faded quite a bit after Sirius's death, they still weren't entirely comfortable together.

"Have you tried _accio_?" Snape asked him, without expression.

"Of course. No luck there. And it's not the first thing that's disappeared, either."

Snape looked up with more interest. "What do you mean?"

"Just that. Yesterday, my favorite quill went missing. Day before it was my letter opener."

Snape looked at him for a long time without saying anything.

"That ever happen to you when you stayed here?" Lupin finally asked him.

"No. That is.... I don't think it's the house."

"What are you getting at?" Lupin asked softly, knowing exactly what Snape meant but wanting to hear it confirmed from Snape's own lips.

Snape shifted awkwardly in his chair. "There's a bit of history with Draco. Well, not to put too fine a point on it, he used to steal things from his classmates at Hogwarts."

"You're joking!"

"Don't be daft, Lupin, I wouldn't joke about this. As his head of house, I was aware of his problem."

Lupin stared in disbelief. "And what did you do about it?"

"Nothing."

He was taken aback by the casual dismissal. "Why not?"

Snape looked even more annoyed than he usually did, but Lupin wanted to know the answer and stared at him. "Obviously, Draco didn't need to steal things because he couldn't afford them. He never tried to hide them. They always would be found on his bed, in plain view. So if a student wanted the item back, he'd know where to find it. Draco never objected to anyone reclaiming what was theirs."

"But it's wrong to let him get away with stealing, Severus."

"No one in Slytherin saw it that way. I never heard a single complaint about it – everyone treated it like an eccentricity, not a crime."

"Then how did you manage to find out about it?"

Snape gifted him with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk. "Credit me with some powers of observation. Surprisingly, some students were content to let him keep the things he'd taken. I recall that Blaise Zabini lost about half his wardrobe to Draco in their last term together. I chalked it up to a display of dominance."

"Well, I'm not going to let him keep my things, for Christ's sake." He lowered his voice a bit. "That is, if you're right about this."

"I suspect I am."

"So you think I'll find the things I'm missing in his bedroom?"

"On his bed, to be precise. You can make an issue of it – which I don't advise, considering how fragile he is at the moment – or you can simply retrieve them when he's occupied elsewhere."

"No harm, no foul?' Lupin asked incredulously.

"Your choice."

The next afternoon, Lupin visited Draco's room while the young man was in the library. His letter opener, quill, and watch were lined up with near-obsessive precision on the bed, exactly as Snape had predicted.

~.~.~.~

Lupin was growing more and more exasperated during an increasingly strained meal with Draco. For the past five days, Draco's proclivity for theft had continued: every day, Lupin would eventually discover something missing and would discreetly recover it from Draco's bed. No words were ever exchanged about what was going on, but the tension Lupin felt had gone beyond unpleasant and was approaching disturbing. It didn't help matters that the full moon was a mere day away, which always made Lupin feel wound up and edgy.

Draco sensed the disquiet, Lupin could tell. He was almost prattling over dinner, talking non-stop of superficial matters. Lupin felt as if their roles had somehow reversed; he managed only the most barely polite responses to Draco's frivolous chatter. It was a relief to both of them when dinner ended. Draco offered to clear up, and Lupin headed for the stairs.

He'd taken to leaving his room in near-military orderliness, to more easily spot the newest absence. Even then, it was at least fifteen minutes after he'd heard Draco's light footfalls pass by on the way to his own room that he finally discovered the most recent theft.

Sirius's collar.

It held a place of honor on the bedpost nearest the door. No-one had ever dared touch it except Lupin and Sirius himself.

Fuck Snape's advice not to say anything to Draco about his sickness. Fuck Draco's bizarre need to steal from him. Damaged or not, Draco had finally gone beyond – far beyond – anything Lupin was prepared to forgive. Was Draco so unobservant that he expected Lupin to be the inoffensive teacher he'd known years ago? Well, that was a war ago; that man no longer existed. He launched himself in the direction of Draco's room and threw open the door with a near-growl.

"I want it back, _now_ —" he shouted, charging halfway across the room in his anger.

Draco was already lying in bed, a thin sheet drawn all the way up to his chin. His knuckles whitened where they clutched the dark cloth tightly against himself in a vain attempt at protecting himself from Lupin's rage. He didn't say anything, but he looked frightened.

"I can't figure you out, Malfoy," Lupin said in a dark tone. "I thought we were getting on here, then you start up with this shit."

As he spoke, his eyes darted around the room, checking for the collar, but he didn't know where to look. His other missing things had been left on the neatly made bed. He strode from bookcase to chest of drawers to bedside table, recklessly shoving aside the ordered books and toiletries.

"Where is it? You fucking little prick, you have no right—"

He was shocked back into silence when Draco, slowly and almost tentatively, swept away the concealing sheet and pushed it aside.

He could tell that Draco had been waiting for him – waiting for _this_. Expectantly, Draco leaned back on his bed, pale skin glowing against the dark duvet and gleaming in the soft light of the guttering torches on the wall. He was wearing nothing, spread out for Lupin's approval, hands gathered at his neck. Then he lowered them coyly to reveal, circling his neck like a victor's garland, the red band of Sirius's collar. With a languorous motion, he rolled over and presented himself to Lupin in a gesture of obvious submission.

Suddenly, everything was so clear. Lupin wondered how Snape could have been so close and yet so completely wrong: Draco's odd behavior wasn't meant to show his dominance – just the opposite. In that instant, Lupin knew exactly why Blaise Zabini had been content to let Draco flaunt his stolen clothing, why the other boys didn't always take back their missing things. What – exactly what – they'd been given in return.

And what made this game so compelling – because it was an elaborate, brilliant game, he could see that now – was that Lupin knew quite a bit about dominance.

"Take off the collar, Draco," he said slowly. "That collar can't be part of this."

A flash of uneasy concern crossed Draco's face, but he did what he was told. Lupin watched the elegant, white hands thread the end of the collar through its confining loops and pull it free. The collar was lifted up to him as an offering, and Lupin accepted it silently and set it aside. Draco's eyes were fixed on him, no longer fearful, waiting for some kind of response.

But first, a confirmation. "This isn't because of the Death Eaters, is it?" He would refuse to continue if somehow Draco had acquired a taste for submission at their hands. "I don't require you to do this."

The answer was quiet but undeterred. "No. I want to. I _need_ to."

Lupin closed his eyes for a brief moment. Energy, unbridled and unfettered, swirled through him, and he reveled in it – too soon for the moon to control him, but too far in its grasp to revert to the complacent servant of the Order's will. All that - the Order, his duty, his responsibilities – were far away tonight.

"What do you want me to do?" he heard Draco ask, and he opened his eyes.

A slow breath helped him compose himself before he could answer. "Everything I tell you to do."

He watched Draco nod at his words. "All right. I ... I shouldn't have taken your things. I know it was wrong."

Lupin frowned. "I can't allow you to touch that collar. It belonged to Sirius Black. If you take it again, Draco, I'll have to send you away. Do you understand?"

Draco nodded quickly, and Lupin could tell that he was shaken by the unexpected threat. "I won't touch it again. I won't."

Lupin looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "How do I know that?"

Draco crawled up on his knees and kept his eyes downcast while answering. "I'll do whatever you say."

"Perhaps. First, you've got to prove to me that you can obey me."

"Yes, of course. Tell me what you want me to do."

Lupin leaned over the bed, heart beginning to quicken at the beguiling sight spread below him, and halted just within reach. "Undress me."

Those delicate hands, the same hands he'd watched struggling nervously through dinner, moved to his throat and worked the shirt buttons there. Down, down, each button carefully undone to reveal scarred skin, and then Draco was reaching up, sliding the material off and leaving him bare.

"Touch me."

Hands reached for him, smooth trails cooling his hot skin. Draco's fingers were trembling, but whether it was from nerves or anticipation, Lupin couldn't tell. The attention was beginning to leave him weak-kneed, and he sank down onto the bed.

"Use your mouth."

Soft tongue. Wet lips. Warm breath. Draco was growing more confident with each movement, first nuzzling along Lupin's collarbone, then down to caress first one hardening nipple, then the other. Then hands hesitated only a moment before reaching for his trousers.

"Take them off."

He knew he should have heard his zip – he felt the cool air as Draco opened his flies – but he was too focused on the unexpected sound of Draco's moan at what he'd uncovered.

"Everywhere, Draco."

"I want—" was as far as Draco got before his mouth captured Lupin's erection. It was mesmerizing to watch the blond hair falling across his torso with every slow, drawing pull. Draco's visible enthusiasm for his task was building, and Lupin watched him grow flushed and disheveled, pushing back his silky hair with a careless gesture.

Greedy desire was struggling to take over, but Lupin wanted this to last longer – it had been far too long already since he'd shared a bed with anyone, and he wasn't going to rush things, even when Draco had offered himself up so willingly.

"Take your time," he said, and Draco instantly slowed his eager pace and began to run his tongue slowly, slowly up and down the length of Lupin's cock, swirling around the base and tracing a path carefully across the tip with each stroke. Lupin let his head fall back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck, yes—" he muttered. "Just like that."

Draco was doing amazing things with his tongue and his hands, and Lupin's body was following along somewhere in the wake. The sensations threatened to drive him into a too-quick release, and he threaded his hands into Draco's hair, stilling him.

"Stop." Again, Draco immediately obeyed, raising his head to patiently wait for his next order.

"Good," he said, trying to sound in control despite his racing breath. "I'm going to fuck you, Draco. I want you to prepare yourself for me."

Draco nodded solemnly at the instruction, but Lupin saw a trace of a smile seeking to escape. A jar pulled from the nearby drawer yielded a rich-scented oil. Draco was sitting back now, and he made sure to catch Lupin's eye before he worked a long, glistening finger inside himself.

"Tell me what you're feeling," Lupin urged.

Draco's eyes widened and his cheeks took on a faint pink glow – apparently no one had ever asked him before to verbalize during sex.

"Ah. I. It feels cool." Draco's voice was soft and low and wonderfully arousing, although Lupin didn't think that was deliberate. "It's warmer, now. I can feel myself wrapping so tight around my finger."

Lupin was slowly fisting his own cock in anticipation, but the words spilling from Draco's mouth were keeping him as hard as when he was being sucked just a few moments earlier. That long finger continued to work in and out of Draco, whose thighs were spreading wider to allow him an unrestricted view.

"Keep going, Draco, god...."

"What do you want?" Draco asked, his voice faltering with the beginning of his own arousal.

"I want you good and ready."

He could hear Draco's breath grow uneven as he stretched himself provocatively. "I'm getting harder for you, every time I—. It feels ... I feel ... _please_."

That begging voice pulled Lupin close, and he propelled himself on top of Draco with a muffled cry. Draco barely had time to pull his hand away before Lupin was on him, then in him, one smooth thrust that made them both cry out together with the exquisite agony of it.

He pulled both of Draco's hands over his head, pinning them with a light grip. Draco was wonderfully flexible and lithe, bending himself easily to conform to Lupin's demands. And, God, it felt wonderful, the young, slender body molding to his own, the smooth, warm skin growing slick with their sweat, the tight muscles flexing and drawing him closer. Draco was his to possess, his to master, at once being given and taken.

He bared his teeth against Draco's exposed throat to let him know he could, before turning it into an open-mouthed kiss tracing along his jaw. Draco took it as permission to respond and tipped his head back, the long arch of his neck at once tempting and erotic. _Please_ , he heard again, and there were other things he heard there, too.

Lupin had lived his whole life concealing, as Draco did, so many unspoken needs that left him feeling hollow. Their increasingly frantic coupling had a forbidden urgency, as though they both feared that someone, somewhere, would wrench them apart and toss them back into their isolation. He tightened his grip on Draco, and they were both rocking together and panting as if accelerating away from anything that would dare to stop them getting what they finally needed.

Draco was trembling under him, legs locked around his waist, pulling in long, rasping breaths and releasing them with faint moans. Lupin pressed their mouths together in a rough, intense kiss – their first. He claimed that mouth, commanded its remaining breath, releasing it only when it became apparent that Draco would pass out from lack of air. At the same time, he was gripping Draco's cock with a slick hand, and Draco gave a last shuddering gasp, froze for a long moment, and came, coating Lupin's fingers with his warm seed.

He paused long enough to ease Draco through his aftershocks. Draco had gone completely limp beneath him, and Lupin nearly laughed at the incongruous response. He wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders for some leverage, and continued his long, deep thrusts as Draco murmured beneath him and smoothed his hands weakly across Lupin's back. With each stroke, he could feel the slickness between them, could smell sex in the air around them. Finally, with a low cry, Lupin emptied himself into Draco in a warm, wet surge.

He came to himself and felt a warm tongue bathing his come-spattered hand. Draco was intent on his task, not stopping until both hands were thoroughly cleaned.

~.~.~.~

Lupin dressed quietly in the dim early morning light, careful not to disturb Draco. He briefly greeted Moody when he showed up to stay with Draco, and apparated away to spend the two days surrounding the full moon away from London. His recovery was unusually rapid, and he found himself anticipating his return to Grimmauld Place, an emotion he'd certainly never felt before about the old house. But first, he made a quick detour to a certain London shop.

Draco greeted him almost shyly, and Lupin eased him through the awkward reunion by resuming control, ordering the young man to join him in his room after preparing for bed. After acknowledging the quiet knock, he watched in satisfaction as Draco came to him with no hesitation, eyes down, dressing gown belted so loosely that Lupin had no trouble noticing that he was naked beneath it. He had to hold himself back from running his hands up Draco's long, toned legs. All in good time.

"I brought you something I thought you needed," he told Draco, and smiled at the look of surprise he got. "Come here. Sit down."

He handed over the plain white box.

"Thank you," Draco said before he even lifted the lid.

"You don't know what it is yet," he replied neutrally, even though he was looking forward to Draco's reaction. "Go ahead. I think it's something you'll enjoy. I picked it out especially for you."

A delicate finger pried at the edge of the box and opened it. Lupin was pleased to hear Draco's gasp as he saw what was in it.

"Let me—"

Draco passed it over to him with a barely hidden look of pleasure, and leaned forward obediently. Lupin took a long moment to caress the white skin of Draco's throat before he encircled his neck with the elaborately tooled black collar. Draco leaned up until he could see himself in the mirror.

"It's beautiful. It's—"

"Just what you needed?" Lupin asked quietly, before adding, "I think you'll learn that all you have to do is tell me what you need. I'll try to give it to you. Within reason."


End file.
